


you in those little high-waisted shorts (both your hands in the holes of my sweater)

by hidefromeveryone



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Even Bech Næsheim is Extra, Everyone Is Gay, First Meetings, Fluff, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Shopping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 08:18:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11032272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hidefromeveryone/pseuds/hidefromeveryone
Summary: Isak went into Forever 21 with a mission.He left with a cute boy's phone number scrawled on his hand, and lipstick smeared on his cheek.





	you in those little high-waisted shorts (both your hands in the holes of my sweater)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xxBech](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxBech/gifts).



> me: i never write fluff 
> 
> me, twelve hours later: but this would be cute 
> 
> i love and care about you a lot bech. thanks for being the best friend ever.

Isak stood outside the gates of hell, the neon Forever 21 sign burning holes into his retinas as he attempted to gather the courage to enter the store. 

He had a mission, after all. The three objectives? To find and escape with pastel cotton swabs, holographic makeup pouches, and a fuzzy sweatshirt the color of his eyes. 

If he wasn't out in fifteen minutes or less, Jonas was to come into the abyss after him, with a safety rope and whatever pieces of hope he could muster up. 

Breathing deeply, he opened the sleek metal door, only to jerk backwards in shock as the smell of cheap cotton and metal overwhelmed his senses. In the distance, a pop song from the early 2000's was playing two decibels too loud. 

This was a mistake. 

He was going to die alone in a pastel 90's astral projected dream. What if he became a cold case, gossiped about in true crime cases? What if they played The Beatles at his funeral? He shuddered in horror. 

He slipped past the slip dresses, mesh shirts, platform gladiator sandals. The color palette of the store was the child of romance and revenge. The glitter in the plastic tiles was climbing into his shoes, infecting his soul. 

What if it was too late to save him? 

The sweaters, of course, were in the very back of the store. It was as if Isak was on a battlefield, his target miles away from his feeble body. 

Was it worth it? 

Yes. His aesthetic was crying in a corner of his mind at the thought of leaving it behind. 

Isak pulled the sleeves of his maroon Henley past his knuckles, pulled his jean jacket closer to his vessel's frame. 

Maybe the fabric could protect him. 

Oh, how he was wrong. 

A sales assistant tried to talk to him, when he walked past the display of mini backpacks, holding up a clear orange one. He avoided eye contact, and increased his walking pace to a leisurely speed of five miles per hour. 

Little did they know, he had a mini backpack at home (full of stationary, and books full of poetry). 

(Every seventeen-year-old boy has read Milk and Honey one hundred and twenty-seven times over the span of five months.)

He was almost there. His eyes made contact with a choker, clear with little pink roses and a heart ring in the middle. It was cute, but society would tear him to shreds if he wore it in public when he went outside. 

_If_ he went outside. 

Reaching the sweaters, Isak noticed that they were arranged haphazardly, falling off of their hangers and collecting dust on the floor. They weren't even color-coordinated. He sighed in bitter disgust. 

If he rearranged them to be in rainbow order, nobody had to know. 

And there it was, his precious prize. 

The green fuzzy sweater, with hazel stitching, was daintily resting on its hanger, calling out to him. Gently grabbing it with his hands, Isak peeked inside to check the size of the item of clothing. 

It was an extra-small. 

Isak did not wear a size extra-small. 

This was an act of homophobia. 

Tears springing into his eyes, he wondered what he had done to deserve this fate over the course of his short life. 

Was it because he stepped on a cat's foot when he was four?

Probably. 

And then, _he_ stepped out of the dressing room, holding the sweater (this one in Isak's size) in his perfectly manicured hands. 

Well, Isak thought, this was a surprisingly convenient turn of events. It was almost like a mysterious mystical force of the universe decided to give him a break for once in his life. 

"Hey," said Isak, glaring at the boy (who was wearing a pair of overalls that ended mid-thigh, a neon pink mesh crop top resting on his chest beneath them. His Vans looked as if they had been to a My Chemical Romance concert in 2004, and as if he had bought them on EBay for a price of three hundred dollars from a shady American seller in Texas. He had holographic purple lipstick on, false lashes that scratched his Charmander sunglasses, and a rainbow highlight that shone brightly under the fluorescent lights on his cheekbones. His snapback was pastel yellow, and in a cursive script read plainly "gay" in a rainbow embroidery thread.)

"Hi," said the boy, snapping some Zebra gum in his mouth. He tongue was stained bright red. "My name's Even." 

"Isak," he said. 

"This sweater is the color of your eyes," said Even. "You should buy it."

"Yeah," he said, taking a step towards the man identified as Even. His brain wasn't letting off a "uwu" siren, so he assumed he was safe for the time being. 

Spider-sense would be useful, Isak thought, as his shoes squeaked on the floor. 

"Also," said Even, a rainbow shimmer in his eyes. "You're very cute." 

"It appears so," he said, as the sweater was transferred into his possession. Isak hugged it protectively. "I would say you're cute too, but, I don't know, you might be a "no homo" dudebro and I don't want to ruin our budding friendship."

Even blinked three times. Isak blinked three times. 

"Um," said Even, moving closer to Isak until there was only a foot between them. 

"That was a joke," he said, a smile on his face. When did the smile crawl into his countenance? His depression factory hadn't authorized this thirty-six hours in advance. 

"I know," said Even, staring at Isak's chapped lips (why hadn't he moisturized them?). 

"Sick Star Wars reference," he said, as Even kissed his cheek. 

"You're extra cute, now," said Even, pulling out a pink (glitter) gel pen from the kangaroo pocket of his overalls. 

"If I'm cute, you're handsome," he said, as Even took his (nail-bitten) hand into his (sparkly, clean) luxury appendages. 

"Call me, okay?" Even asked, with the pink of his lips singing through the worn-off patches of his cream lipstick. 

"Okay," he said. (Maybe okay will be our always.) (It has been years, Isak thought, why I am still plagued with this cheesy YA quote in this life?)

Even walked away without another word, humming a Harry Style's song under his breath. 

This, Isak thought, was the greatest moment in his young gay life thus far. 

Somehow, he made it to the till counter, where he found his makeup pouches and cotton swabs. 

Isak's brain, having completed its quest, checked out of reality until he was back outside of the store, sunshine yellow bag in hand. 

The phone number on his hand would make a great tattoo, he thought. The lipstick however, was not his shade. 

What a shame, Isak thought as he texted Jonas that he had made it out alive. The smear on his cheek was reflected under the sun. 

After all, purple lipstick with his new sweater would make him look like Daphne from Scooby-Doo. 

Not that it was a bad aesthetic to achieve, Isak thought. Only that he was more of a Velma himself.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: @hidefromeveryone 
> 
> work title taken from: "sweater weather" by the neighborhood 
> 
> i finished this at 1:56 so hmu with any mistakes you find. drag me. 
> 
> me, one week ago: posts a fic venting about my suicidal thoughts 
> 
> me, now: cute gay fluff 
> 
> i only exist in two states of being :')


End file.
